


This Slowly Sinking Feeling

by Lyssandra_Med



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, High Chaos (Dishonored), High Chaos Emily Kaldwin, I don't know but this exists, Mash-up, We'll see if I'll continue it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22915414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione had a choice. Pick one, or pick the other. But what if neither were to her liking?---Or; Former-Empress Hermione finds blood just a bit too fascinating. With that, she finds the Crown Killer just as intriguing.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Andromeda Black Tonks, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	This Slowly Sinking Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nemesischaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemesischaris/gifts), [Tekturna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tekturna/gifts).



> I might continue this. I might turn this back into full on Dishonored 2 fic. I don't know yet.
> 
> Unedited

Moving forwards and backwards from angles and hidden ledges was as much of a skill as it was an art form. Long stretches of hallways blocked off and guarded by bloodflies or soldiers who looked nervously towards the interior of the Institute rather than the exterior. Shifting feet and beating hearts that barely registered to anyone’s ears. It was but the work of a silent moment to push herself on through a crack, over a wall, off through the opened panes of glass that lay above a doorway. Her body was slick; sweat dripping down her back to mingle and stick with blood, all of it doused beneath her blackened revenge.

_Crown Killer-_

_Grim Bella-_

A cannibal more than a murderer, a plague set loose to drip and drain her enemies dry. It was more than mildly worrying that a world-renowned physician would be so far gone as to be in league or have information on such a lawless individual. Not half so much as finally finding the good doctor locked away inside her auditorium with a shifting blankness across her face and words that tumbled more than they made sense. Something was clearly wrong, something that Hermione could not fix, something was _broken_ beyond the plane of normal.

The body that was hidden away in the backroom shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise to Hermione. She should have certainly been ready for it after all the death that had led her here. While it _did_ manage to shock her somewhat it was less of a distraction or a nuisance than the large shelving unit that was hurled at the back of her head once she spoke to the dying man. Dodging away from that - _through time, through space, through the ethereal ocean stretched around them_ \- wasn’t easy.

But it led her towards the scent of prey and led prey straight to her, so in the end it was far less of an issue than it surely could have been. Besides, the knowledge gained was worth more than the little bit of herself that she had expended in the manoeuvre. If she hadn’t managed to see the turn herself, if she hadn’t noticed the yellowed eyes and scrambling fingers, teeth a file of knives brought low and feral in an effort to rend and tear-

Well. It could be safely said that she needed to see it to believe.

The woman standing before her was no longer a shuffling husk that slouched more than she stood. Her movements left long limbs jerking around, voice a scream more than real speech, fists flying and nails attempting to latch onto whatever was within her reach. Hermione sucked in her breath as she evaded another swipe, tasted rot and death and slag upon her tongue as she pushed, pulled-

Energy was one thing. Gusto was another. But in the end, a single fist coming down as harshly as she could bring it was all that it took.

“Oh, Doctor,” Hermione mused, cradling her aching fist and letting her eyes sweep across the unconscious form. She wondered about the _how_ more than the _why;_ it was clear enough right then and there that Grim Bella had been a pet monster for Thomasin, a short chain leading to a cage that held her locked away now that supposed victory had been achieved. The how was much more interesting. Hermione was sure of it.

A docile woman, known the world over for her efforts in healing the pain and suffering of those subjects unfortunate enough to call Karnaca home. What had gone wrong?

Or, she supposed, what had gone right?

\---

Hauling the unconscious body from the skiff and onto the deck of the _Dreadful Wale_ was much more an annoyance than she had initially anticipated. The woman wasn’t bulky by any means but seemed instead gangly and long-limbed. The whole weight of Andromeda Black hung over one shoulder but bit down into the flesh and muscle of Hermione’s shoulder in _just_ the right way to leave her off-kilter with her balance thrown askew. Adding to that the rocking shift of ungainly seas that had their vessel wavering through turbulence, and it was more than a few harrowing seconds before she realized just how she could fix it.

_Void Magic._

More aptly, the magic emblazoned into the backside of her palm. Why she hadn’t thought of that as her first option was beyond her. Perhaps it was the lethargy from a long day or the nervousness at having a more interesting bunkmate than Meagan.

Surely her wit would be more appreciated by a learned mind, if for no other reason than she would be _understood._

Whatever the reason, or lack thereof, Hermione hauled the good doctor aboard and set about securing her from herself. Thick iron chains that Meagan roused from the bilge, wraps of iron that clawed into skin and held tightly with no give. It was hasty work that leaned towards amateurish and laziness but enough of a restraint to work. Loud enough, as well. Should Andromeda awake, Hermione would know.

With no further pretence towards niceties, Hermione dropped down into her cot along with all the notes and paperwork she had been able to salvage from the Institute. Reams of papers described the elixir that Andromeda had been working on, as well as the associated correspondence between the two halves of her personality.

Andromeda Hypatia Black.

Bellatrix Alexandria Black.

The same coin, now cut in twain.

Along with those new works came smaller notes, bits of letters between Thomasin and the Duke. It was small, but enough for Hermione to piece together what their plan had been. Unfortunately, it was less interesting than the other notes; a theorized counter-agent that could eliminate Grim Bella entirely. Not that Hermione felt a _need_ to eliminate the fascinating monster, there were far more useful things she could apply herself to make, but it was best that she be prepared all the same.

A little bit of reassurance never hurt anyone.

Hermione spent some moments outside her quarters to convince Meagan that she needed to remain floating near the Institute. They would moor themselves close enough that it would be within easy range, but far enough away that no one looking for them could find them. Or provide _others_ with their probable location, should they be sighted. After that came an honest attempt strip herself clean of the blood that had soaked her throughout the day, a task more complicated by the lack of any shower on the vessel than the long minutes she spent staring at the spiderwebs of red patterned across her sunkissed skin.

Blood was not something that the Empress counted as unusual. Death had been a constant companion during the first Rebellion, and death had followed afterwards even as the plague burned itself out in the rundown corners of her land. Death had remained along the edges and the shadows as she signed off on warrants, decrees, edicts and reminders to seek out all those who had meant to keep her shackled into service.

Death was Corvo and his Mark and his Blade, and what was Hermione but a studious daughter oh so very eager to please her father?

But now Corvo was chained tightly within a prison of stone and she was free to seek out her revenge. One day, one body at a time, just as fast or as slow as it took. Her eyes drew forth to follow the sleeping rise and fall of Andromeda’s chest, her lips parted only slightly and body mostly still.

Here lay another Reaper, another who toiled in their effort to search out the Void’s greatest currency.

Was it luck that brought Hermione to Andromeda’s door?

Yes. Though whether it was for good or for ill remained to be seen.

\---

Sleep brought with it stranges waves and tides that shook the very foundation of time itself. 

The Void; just as dark and mysterious as before, though at this moment far more muggy and imposing. And she was not alone.

Hermione ducked out of the way in the last possible moment, her skills and her reflexes and all the pretty scarring on the back of her hand managing to pluck her from danger before it could ever land. The interloper never saw the hold, never saw the flicking glint of her Father’s blade-

There one moment.

Gone the next.

Pulled back, pulled away, tangled with ropes that shined and oozed with darkness.

Was it distressing? Absolutely. This was the first moment that the Outside had made his presence known through _touch,_ outside of the branding on her hand. This seemed… _harsher,_ for lack of any better way to describe the malcontent that dripped from her bonds. The Outsider seemed just as grim as any Mother that needed step between two squabbling children, the belt a looming threat to them both.

 **“Enough,”** the voice pounded through her ears, through her chest, more in her mind than anything _actually_ said. His materialization wasn’t immediate. With tender care bits and pieces of him swirled together until, from one moment to the next, he existed.

A head inclined, mischief and roiling anger steady between his gaze, **“I’d wonder how you managed to bring such an interesting specimen here, but knowing you, your Father… The fates aligned, I suppose.”**

Hermione startled from her reverie and turned to look at who exactly it was that had been called forth alongside her. 

“Andromeda,” she muttered, voice soft amid the now comforting waves of the Void.

_“Fuck you-”_

Hermione interrupted her before she could continue, “Bellatrix?”

 **“Correct! Somehow,”** the Outsider gravelled out, moving and blinking to stand before the bound woman, her mouth now covered by glassy tendril. **“Somehow you ended up pulling her along. She’s not Andromeda, not here, not in the real world. Thomasin shrouded portions of her creation-”**

The scene around Hermione sifted until the Outsider and Andromeda - _Grim Bella_ \- were simply floating ghosts, a slab of obsidian reforming to play centre stage. Upon it stood three bodies; Andromeda at the middle with a phial tipped towards her lips, Grim Bella standing behind her but opaque, seethrough and only half-formed, _broken-_

And Thomasin.

Hermione felt her blood begin to boil the longer that the scene held, watching with panting breath at the Witch who stood there with a bored face and red eyes. _Something_ exuded from the woman, something poisoned that which Andromeda held.

**“That’s all I have you, Former-Empress. The Good Doctor, willing to sacrifice herself in order to help others. Bella-”**

The woman beside Hermione gave a grunt that might have been a shout, anger colouring what little could be seen of her face.

 **“Poor Bellatrix standing behind. Always waiting, always watching, always wanting a moment beneath the Sun. And Thomasin, working on** **_something_ ** **that I cannot see. Had you cured her, had you killed her, I don’t know what would have come of this. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps everything.”** The Outside leaned in, released the tendrils holding Hermione still and lighting a fire along the back of her hand, **“But she’s here now. Your problem, little Empress, is to find out what happens next.”**


End file.
